A Journey Begins
by RaphaellaLacey
Summary: The car journey after that breathtakingly romantic scene in the mist! Shelagh and Patrick are suddenly free to express their feelings for each other, but don't know where to start. To be continued... Please review if you have the time :)
1. Chapter 1

A Journey Begins

They just stood there, wrapped up in each other's eyes as the mist formed a gentle cocoon around them. Shelagh had never felt so safe. She had been worrying all morning about meeting Dr Turner for the first time after that crucial phone call; she never knew what to say in his presence, somehow as soon as she caught his gaze, all words simply flew from her mind and all she could think about what the bubble that rose in her stomach and sent flutters through her body. When she had been a nun this incoherency had been all the greater due to the guilt that immediately followed one of their electric moments, but now, with the confines of her habit gone, she had found she knew exactly what to say to the man she loved, surprising herself more than anything.

Patrick could not get over the new woman that stood beaming up at him. After so many months of silence, of willing her to understand the depth of his love through only the briefest brushes of hands and honest glances, he had been worrying about how to make the first move too. Shelagh had discovered her voice, whereas he had never been more speechless in his life. But they had become so used to sharing their feelings without words that it hardly seemed to matter. When he had first stopped the car, stunned by the sight of Sister Bernadette in civilian clothes, he had had to steady himself against the door, standing there for what seemed like an age, melting at how vulnerable she looked as she stared shyly at him and trying to make his limbs work. He had tentatively put his hand to her forehead and forced himself to tear it away. He had wanted to stroke her hair, to keep that tender contact that made his heart jump around in his chest.

Now he had his coat clasped under her chin and was enjoying being able to study her beautiful face without shame. They could have stayed there drinking in each other's presence for hours, but after a few minutes they were interrupted by a shout of "Dad! Sister Bernadette! I'm cold, what are you doing? I thought we were supposed to be rescuing her, not standing about in the road!" Shelagh and Patrick tore their eyes away from the other, both breathing very deeply and blushing slightly. "It's alright Timothy," called Patrick, "could you get into the back now?" The little boy did what he was told, grinning profusely at his father as he squashed Shelagh's suitcases onto the backseat next to him. Patrick gave his son a meaningful look before he had a chance to say anything more embarrassing then opened the passenger door for Shelagh, holding her hand as she got in, reluctantly relinquishing it afterwards.

When they had turned round and begun the journey back to Poplar, Timothy began the interrogation. "Sister Bernadette, why are you in the wrong clothes?" "Because I am not going to be a nun anymore, Timothy," she replied, staring at her hands which were clasped in her lap. Patrick glanced quickly over to her and she caught his gaze, which was a bad idea as it was always impossible not to get lost in her clear blue eyes and he was driving. "I'm not Sister Bernadette anymore, my name is Shelagh." Timothy gawped. The concept of her not wearing her habit was hard enough to work out, without being told her name was changed. They carried on in silence for a while, the two adults resolutely not looking at each other, their minds racing and dancing with possibilities. Patrick wished his son had stayed behind so he and Shelagh could talk privately. "Dad was so worried, he was early out of work so he could get to you in time. He's never been early for anything before." Shelagh laughed softly and Patrick's heart once more threatened to overflow with affection. "I'm very grateful to both of you for your consideration," she smiled. The mist had lifted and sunlight began to stream into the car, gleaming off the molten gold of Shelagh's hair and glinting on the rims of her glasses. She was so very beautiful, thought Patrick, not for the first time that journey, and he found his hand moving to take hers, slowly so Timothy didn't notice. When she intertwined her fingers with his firstly came a flip in his stomach and then a grin overcame him. Suddenly Shelagh was grinning too. Any contact between them they valued and they stayed this way silently holding hands and smiling all the way into London. One day, and it was looking to be soon, he would be able to kiss her, but for now they were taking one step at a time. As Shelagh had said, they had made a start and there was no doubt at all in either of their minds that the rest would follow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much for the reviews. It means so much to hear people enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it! Sorry this chapter's a bit thin on the ground in terms of action, but I really wanted to establish how strange and nervous P and S would still be feeling... **

Just before they reached Poplar, Timothy decided to raise the fact that he had been made half an hour late for Cubs. "I'm sorry, I really am," grimaced his father, "you thought you would just go on a quick round with me, and you ended up miles out of town - I completely forgot about this evening."

"It's alright," sighed Timothy with an air of heroism, "there was no way I could have held you up, Sister Bernadette would probably still be wandering round in the fog."

"Shelagh, Timothy," reminded Patrick, smiling over at her as she laughed nervously. After her moment of bravery in offering up her feelings to him on the road, she had become rather quiet. Shelagh was wondering what would happen next. She felt as though if they went their separate ways she would be alone and unsure again; she did not want this spell of understanding to be broken. She didn't want this car journey to ever end. But end it did. Patrick screeched up outside the church hall. "You haven't even got your uniform on!" he exclaimed, practicalities suddenly dawning on him as he returned from the blissful bubble he had been in for the last hour or so.

"Oh don't mind that dad, I'll explain to Arkala you were too busy chasing after Sis- I mean _Shelagh _to worry about my Cubs."

"Now don't be cheeky," reprimanded Patrick, giving his son another stare that was a mixture between a plead and a reproach. "There are plenty more test tubes to be sterilised at the surgery you know." Timothy bolted off only to return a few seconds later. Shelagh wound down her window and the high-spirited young boy leaned in familiarly.

"Oh, I just remembered, I was supposed to bring along a contribution to our jumble sale fund," he panted. Patrick looked blank. "You know, I told you about it last week. We're having a jumble sale at the weekend." His father ran his hands through his hair.

"Sorry, I do remember now, my mind's been on other things lately..." Timothy gave him a wickedly knowing grin. Both adults wondered just how much about their relationship he understood. Patrick began to fumble in his jacket pocket for some money, but Shelagh got there first, smartly snapping open her handbag and passing some coins through the window to Timothy, who thanked her with a winning smile and raced away. "Oh gosh," she thought, breathing sharply as she watched the little boy disappear into the hall. "In that moment we were so naturally like a proper family." She barely suppressed an excited grin - but when she turned back she found Patrick stationary, his hands resting on the steering wheel. He was remembering all those times he had sat alone in his car with his thoughts going back and forth like the monotonous scrape of the windscreen wipers. His expression was contented, yet the lines around his mouth and eyes were dark and creased, giving the impression he had not slept properly for a while. With a quiver of gratitude she wondered how much this was down to her. "Patrick?" she whispered tentatively after a while, the name playing ardently on her lips in a way she never thought a name could. Patrick started and apologised for being in such a state, agitatedly starting the engine and instinctively making for Nonnatus House. Their destination was only just round the corner, and the minutes passed in a charged silence until the engine purred to a halt and Patrick turned to Shelagh intently.

"I thought I was going to lose you," he said suddenly. "I thought you would be gone and I'd have never said those things, never shown you how much you mean to me." Shelagh silenced him gently with a touch of his arm.

"Patrick, please," she murmured. "You don't think you were the only one who felt that panic? I have been wanting to tell you for months that I return your feelings, but it seemed impossible and all the time I was wondering if I'd ever see any of my friends again." Patrick creased his face in concern, placing his hand on top of hers in an innocent gesture of comfort. "But it's all over now. 'Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past' as the good Lord said." He smiled, this religious guidance suddenly reminding him of Shelagh's past as a nun. He still found her sitting there in normal clothes with her hair bringing out her prettiest features slightly surreal, and couldn't imagine he would get used to it all too soon. It was too good to be true.

"Yes," he sighed heavily in relief. "It is all over now. You are totally healed and I have no words to express how glad that makes me."

"Well, not totally healed," laughed Shelagh, her eyes gleaming, "this scar of mine has still not completely gone away." She released her hand from his arm and held it perfectly steady in between them. He took it in his and slowly traced a circle on her palm. The lightness of his touch made her skin tingle in a way she had not felt since that day by the sink after the three-legged race. Only this time she let him kiss her hand without snatching it away, and they remained like that, with his lips brushing her fingers, then her palm, before pressing into her wrist. Shelagh felt a small sigh escape her as her whole body revelled in this beautiful and strangely intimate gesture.

All of a sudden, a great crash resounded from above them and they broke away with pounding hearts. Sister Evangelina was standing in the doorway of Nonnatus house, staring at the couple with an impenetrable expression. How much had she seen? But Shelagh and Patrick couldn't worry for long. Suddenly there was everyone, beaming, running down the steps to welcome their friend home, swarming like gannets clamouring around the car. Shelagh let herself out, and as she stepped into the sunlight a collective gasp broke from the stunned midwives. "I'm home!" she smiled nervously, waiting desperately for the first response.

**Please review if you have the time :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks again for the lovely reviews - I have plenty of plans for this couple, so bear with me!**

No one spoke for a few long seconds, and then quite out of the blue, Trixie launched herself upon the former nun and squeezed her tight. "There have been so many times I've wanted to hug you, and your restraint has stopped me. Now I guess I can bally well hug you whenever I feel like it!" Shelagh did not resist - in truth this outburst of emotion from the young midwife had touched her deeply, and she found her glasses misting up. "Oh no, please don't cry," Trixie exclaimed, with utmost concern. "I didn't mean to alarm you."

Shelagh was choked, but she managed to laugh through it and squeeze Trixie's hand, tears brimming in her eyes and then spilling down her cheeks as she said "No, that was the best welcome I could have wished for. I'm just so happy to be home." Dr Turner, standing a respectful distance away from the action, wanted nothing more than to put his arm around the now softly crying Shelagh, but he knew that would be far too much of a familiar action in front of the perceptive young midwives and all-seeing nuns. He was already worried that Sister Evangelina had seen him kissing Shelagh's wrist in the car, and if so, that would take some explaining; he let her friends do the comforting and contented himself with observing her every move from a distance, until he saw everyone making a move back up the steps towards Nonnatus House. He hung back, unsure as to whether he should follow or let them continue their happy reunion in peace.

When Shelagh saw him hesitate, she turned to Sister Julienne. Her stomach gave a tight clench as she considered the idea that Patrick might be leaving her so soon after they had gained their closeness. "Could Doctor Turner stay for tea, do you think? He's been so kind in picking me up, in fact, he rescued me, I got the wrong bus and-"

"Of course, how rude of me," Sister Julienne interrupted, fully understanding her dear friend's words. "Doctor Turner," she called, "of course you are welcome to join us this evening, if you so wish. We are all eternally grateful for your kindness towards our dear sister." She said _sister _despite the fact she was almost officially not one anymore, but there was still truth in her words. Shelagh would always be a sister to everyone at Nonnatus - some things never change.

"Well, that would be lovely," came the reply, and Patrick locked the car before jumping up the steps two at a time. "A celebration is certainly in order." Only Shelagh could fully appreciate the strength of those words, and she smiled a secret smile to herself, allowing Sister Julienne to take her by the arm and lead her to the crowded sitting room.

When everyone was assembled, it was clear the midwives were expecting some sort of explanation as to why their Sister Bernadette had undergone such a transformation. They were torn between marvelling at the attractiveness their friend had been hiding, and casting pleading expressions at the nuns, whom they had worked out were the only ones to be forewarned of the change. They got no response of course. Sister Julienne wanted Shelagh to tell everyone when she was ready, and in her own way. Nothing could be rushed with such a delicate situation, and so she offered no clarification.

A happy half-hour was passed, in which everyone demanded a full description of Shelagh's recovery, which she gave with so much relief in her heart she thought she would burst. Despite this, she disliked being the centre of so much exuberant attention, so when Mrs B. called that dinner was ready she couldn't help being relieved. All through the meal, everyone was excitedly chattering, except Patrick, who found himself becoming paranoid that Sister Evangelina was giving him stern looks across the salad bowl. His fears were realised when, as soon as everyone had finished eating, the aforementioned Sister ordered briskly. "Come now, Doctor Turner, I'll wash and you can dry." He caught Shelagh's worried eye as he left the room, feeling like a naughty school boy who had been caught doing something he shouldn't. Sister Evangelina, it would seem, would have made the perfect terrifying headmistress.

"It's a happy day," she began, with not as much cheerfulness as that statement deserved. She chucked a tea towel at him, dumped the dishes in the sink and started to scrub them dangerously vigorously. Patrick wondered where this was going. She continued - "We all love Shelagh dearly."

"I know," interjected Patrick.

"I know you know," replied Sister Evangelina with a meaningful tone. Patrick sighed and the Sister harrumphed.

"Look, let's not beat about the bush," she went on. "I hadn't realised you and our Shelagh were so _well acquainted_." She said the last two words with the most cynical of inflictions, and Patrick winced.

"Sister, let me get this straight," he said intensely, but not unkindly. "She and I have been friends and colleagues for many years, and I have always held her in the utmost esteem and respect." Sister Evangelina looked as if she wanted to say something, but Patrick kept going. "Then ever so slowly we began to realise there was something more, that there were things that needed to be said that couldn't be, because she was a nun, an angel, and I'm just a worn out old doctor. I don't mean to say that she has chosen to leave the religious life because of me. But you must have seen how troubled she has been, and then when we thought she might die we realised life is just too short to be unhappy. She is doing the thing that makes her happy, and I think that, in this case, that makes her the bravest person in the world. Our love is her saving grace, her Godsend, if you like."

"_Our _love, Doctor Turner? Do you mean to say she returns your affections?"

"Yes, she told me so herself," he said plainly. "If you don't believe this relationship is anything but based on the purest of love, then ask Sister Julienne." His speech over, he handed the tea towel back to Sister Evangelina, leaving her to dry up herself. He had not wanted the announcement of their happiness to be like this, in fact the whole scene had made him rather tired and unwilling to go back to the others and make conversation. But the thought of Shelagh waiting anxiously for his return was enough to spur him on.

Sister Evangelina was fed up. "Sister Julienne," she murmured incredulously into the empty kitchen.

When Compline had finished that evening, Sister Evangelina asked to see the senior nun privately, and when she angrily recounted her conversation with Doctor Turner she was stunned by the response she got. "I know," Sister Julienne had said plainly. "Shelagh is in love with the doctor."

Sister Evangelina felt betrayed. "You knew, and you let her decide to leave the order, just because of love? I thought she had all the love she needed, here, with her sisters, with God." Although she was outwardly fuming, it was obvious through her words that she cared for Shelagh deeply, and wanted the best for the lovely young woman. After a few moments of thought, Sister Julienne lifted her chin and recited calmly:

"Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love. John chapter four, verse eight."

And with that she swept from her office, leaving Evangelina to mull over those words of truth.

**Please review if you have the time :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks for all the continued encouragement - a little nervous about this one, not sure if it's too sentimental - please tell me what you think!**

At around seven o'clock Dr Turner excused himself to pick Timothy up from Cubs, and nearly got run down by Fred who was racing back to Nonnatus in his Arkala uniform. He looked like an excitable overgrown school boy. "Timothy's waiting at the hall, he said he'd tidy up, the good boy. He told me the news, oh it'll be so nice to see Sister Bernadette home again, just like old days."

"Did Timothy not tell you, she's not Sister Bernadette anymore," smiled the doctor, checking his watch, and making to leave. "I've got to go Fred, I'm late for Timothy, as you know." He raised his hand and rushed away.

"'Ere, hang on a tick! What d'you mean she's not Sister Bernadette anymore?"

"You'll find out!" came the distant reply from an elated Patrick; this had been the best day he'd had in a very long while.

Later on, after having extracted no real explanation from an exhausted Shelagh as to why she was leaving the order, Fred skulked off to fix the hot water boiler, which had broken again under the pressure of so many rounds of celebratory tea. The midwives were also beginning to get frustrated with their perplexing friend - what had caused this sudden change of heart? Surely, as her closest companions, they deserved to know.

When the clock in the hall struck eight, Shelagh decided after all the excitement of her day it was high time she was in bed. There was a general protest, but Sister Julienne came to the rescue.

"Yes, you must get some rest, after all you are home to convalesce. We've fixed up your old room for now."

"Thank you Sister." Shelagh smiled shyly and made her exit. As soon as the tap of her shoes on the parquet floor had faded away, the midwives pounced on Sister Julienne.

"Sister, what is going on? First she's going to Chichester, now she's back here and without the habit, it's all simply too unreal!"

Sister Julienne checked them firmly. "That is not for me to say. Our dear friend will tell in her own time." And before the girls had the chance to even take a breath, she quickly added, "and that is not a cue for you to press her tonight after lights out, either." She raised her eyebrows serenely; she knew what her young charges were like - curiosity, and a compulsion to gossip, was in their very nature. Sure enough, when the older inhabitants of Nonnatus House were all safely ensconced in their rooms, Shelagh was interrupted from her prayers by a purposeful knock on the door.

"Can we come in?" came a whisper, the owner of which barely waited for a reply before creeping in anyway.

"Nurse Franklin, what can I do for you. Oh, and Nurse Lee, and Nurse Miller. And Jane as well, my goodness" breathed Shelagh, before adding sardonically, "this is a surprise." She got up from where she was kneeling beside the bed, and hastily grabbed her dressing gown and glasses.

"We've come for an explanation," exclaimed Trixie, gaining herself an elbow in the side from Jenny; their plan was certainly not to start as boldly as that.

"Well really," Trixie continued, "we can't go on like this without even knowing what we're supposed to call you. We couldn't be happier to have you back home, but you must admit an explanation is in order."

"You're right," murmured Shelagh, considering how to confide in her friends without giving too much away. "I have come to the conclusion that being a nun is no longer God's plan for me. I think he wants me to fulfil my purpose in other areas of life. There are things - different things I can offer." Her reply was rather cryptic; the girls were certain there was something she was not letting on. "And my real name is Shelagh," she finished, her face lifting at the thought of the new potential this name would bring. She enjoyed saying it after so many years of carrying a religious pseudonym. And she particularly enjoyed it when a certain person said it to her.

"Alright Shelagh," grinned Trixie, her impatience vanishing at how much peace the former nun had obviously now found, "grilling over."

"Good," interjected the ever-caring Cynthia. "I'm sorry for us being so nosy."

"I'm not!" pouted Trixie.

"It's just all so exciting," sighed Jenny, taking Shelagh's hand. "I always thought that maybe you sometimes wished you could join in, and we could never ask you. Am I right?" Shelagh nodded rather timidly.

"Well then, we'd better invade your room again sometime soon," grinned Trixie.

"If you must," Shelagh yawned happily, shooing them out the door. "But if I don't get my sleep now, I'll tell the nuns you were sneaking about after hours."

"Enough said," whispered Trixie, "but remember, you're one of us now, so that puts an end to snitching!"

_One of us_ repeated Shelagh to herself in her head as she drifted off to sleep. Could the day possibly have been any better?

A sudden influx of births saw Doctor Turner spending the next two days rushed of his feet, devotedly attending to the needs of the women of Poplar. This meant he could not devotedly attend to Shelagh, as much as he was yearning to. Sister Julienne for one would not hear of her restarting her midwife's duties so soon, so the impatient Shelagh found herself confined to her room, the only thing that kept her sane being to re-read the letters Patrick had sent to the Sanatorium. She did this with great satisfaction again and again, letting the gentle messages of love flood to her heart with every revisit. Her only other distraction was the sudden mania the Cubs' impending jumble sale had created at Nonnatus. Fred, in his capacity as leader of the pack, was worried they would not have enough to sell, and announced to everyone over dinner that he was counting on them to bring along any old junk they could find. "Oh goody, can I bring Sister Monica Joan?" Sister Evangelina had muttered, and it was soon decided by many that the whole event was probably causing more trouble than it was worth.

In the end the sale was a relative success, and by overwhelming consent the money was put towards a charity which helped provide treatment for Tuberculosis sufferers, proof, if it was needed, of the affection the whole community shared for Shelagh, and a gesture which touched her tremendously. But something was to move her further still. Just before the day wound to a close, Patrick took Shelagh aside, his hand resting comfortably on her waist. "I've missed you," he said simply, his eyes shining into hers, taking her breath away.

"You would have thought after coping for several months without me when I was in the Sanatorium, a few days would be nothing," she pointed out.

"Coping is hardly the word, ask Timothy."

"Ask me what?" came a small voice from beside them. Patrick retracted his hand hastily and cleared his throat; how was it his son always managed to appear without him hearing? Shelagh smiled in amusement. The little boy would have to get used to their familiarity soon enough. Upon getting no reply, Timothy addressed Shelagh shyly: "I wanted to give you this." He held up a small plain box, and she took it.

"Is it another insect for pathological referral by any chance?" smirked Patrick, wondering what on earth the spirited boy would spring on the poor woman next.

"No, I bought this with my pocket money to say how much I like having Sis- I mean, Shelagh back," Timothy replied, eagerly. Shelagh opened the box, and blinked rapidly, her emotions threatening to spill over as she looked down at what the remarkable boy had given her. An embossed silver cross on a chain. "I thought you'd probably had to give your old wooden one back." Shelagh was lost for words - she just pulled Timothy to her and hugged him with all her might. Suddenly, Patrick had put his arms around the both of them, and for a moment the three of them were closer than they had ever been. They all knew it was perfect.

**Please review if you have the time :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Your comments are seriously so kind, and just the thing I needed to get this chapter finished. Please keep them coming!**

About a week after her return to Poplar, Shelagh received a telephone call from Doctor Turner, asking her to meet him at the church hall after clinic, before he had to rush out on his rounds. There was something he had to say to her. Acutely aware of Trixie and Jane watching closely at the doorway, she tried desperately to regulate her breathing, turning her back on them to give release to the excited smile that had built up inside her ever since his first word. "Alright, Doctor," she replied, formally, hoping he'd guess she was covering herself against the spies that lurked round every corner of Nonnatus. She put the phone down, wondering what on earth he could want to see her for, and began to polish her glasses on her jacket to give her something to do with her hands, which she was sure were noticeably trembling.

"Well then?" demanded Trixie, making no attempt at all to cover her nosiness. "What are doctor's orders?"

"Leave her alone," came a voice from round the corner, and Jenny appeared, giggling. Shelagh frowned.

"Would I be mistaken in thinking the whole of Nonnatus was listening in on my private conversation?"

"Oh come on," grinned Trixie, wickedly. "We have our reasons. I think Doctor Turner is quite taken with you - he couldn't take his eyes off you yesterday at clinic." If only they knew, thought Shelagh, that she and the doctor had been slowly giving their hearts to each other over months of glances and brushing of hands.

"We're meeting after clinic to discuss an expectant mother whose last baby I delivered with complications," she said, blushing scarlet and frantically praying for to be forgiven for this necessary lie. She couldn't have been more glad when at five o'clock she left for the church hall, and was free for the time being from the nurses with their overactive and unforgiving imaginations. Her mind wandered once more to what Patrick wanted to see her so specifically about. When she reached the hall she suddenly became very aware of how she was walking in her new heeled shoes, and half wished she had put on her comfortable brogues. She felt unsteady enough in Patrick's presence as it was. Doctor Turner waited for her in the kitchen, by the sink where he had first built up the courage to kiss her hand. His heart slammed in his chest, until he saw his Shelagh coyly part the curtain, and he knew exactly what he needed to do, after all, he couldn't be more certain they were ready to give themselves up to the love they shared so deeply. They greeted each other shyly, like youngsters at a dance rather than the worldly-wise adults they were, and when Patrick smiled that gentle, searching smile she had found herself unable to last a day without seeing, Shelagh did not feel unsteady at all. Up until now the moments they had alone together had thrilled and terrified her in equal measure. Today, for some reason, all that fear was gone, and she walked up to him steadily and without a care in the world.

When he handed her a smartly wrapped square box, she was so busy wallowing in the joy of being alone with him that she did not pre-empt what it contained in the slightest. So when she folded out the paper and saw the carefully handwritten words _please will you marry my dad? _she was so shocked she could only manage to shakily repeat the words aloud, as if hearing them would confirm that it was actually happening. It was not a dream, it was real: Doctor Turner wanted her to be his wife! When she tilted up her face, her heavenly blue eyes so full of disbelief and her lips slightly parted in surprise, Patrick desperately fought the urge to propel her into his arms. Shelagh was so stunned by the proposal, the ultimate declaration of undying love she had spent her life thinking was impossible, that she found herself unable to move. Instead, Patrick slowly opened the case to reveal the most delicate diamond engagement ring, lifted it out, and took the now radiantly beaming Shelagh's petite hand in his. Ever so reverently, he lifted her ring finger and held the ring to it. Shelagh wanted that moment to last forever; she now had more butterflies in her stomach than there were in Timothy's collection, and she couldn't work out if she wanted to laugh, or to cry. Or to kiss him. Patrick's gaze flicked nervously to Shelagh's face as he bent to press his lips to the hand where his ring was now proudly gleaming. Time seemed to stand still for the couple as they gazed into each other's eyes as they had done so many times before - only now there was no uncertainty, no apologies, just pure, unbridled love that no amount of words could express.

After what might have been thirty seconds, or ten minutes, Patrick found his hand moving to tuck a strand of hair behind his fiancée's ear, and his hand stayed there, gently stroking her cheek. Without thinking about it, Shelagh tilted her head against his hand and shut her eyes in contentment, enjoying the contact they had both dreamt about for so long. When she opened them again, Patrick was closer to her than he had ever been, and his expression showed a new level of intensity which sent shivers down her spine and made her knees go weak. Sensing this, Patrick placed his hand firmly in the centre of her back to give her support, making her breathe out in surprise. She had never been held in this way before; the heat of his hand seemed to burn through the fabric of her jacket. She could feel the gentle brush of his breath on her skin; she couldn't remember how to breathe herself. Ever so slowly, Patrick leaned in, and Shelagh's lips parted as the last few inches between their faces began to close...

"Doctor, I wondered if you could - Oh!" came a startled voice from the other side of the serving hatch. The couple only had time to whip their heads around, remaining in their clinch as they clocked Jenny Lee, her face a picture of mortification, gaping at what she had nearly witnessed. Her horror-struck expression gradually turned into delighted laughter as she grinned, "Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude, but you're needed up at Nonnatus. It's nothing to worry about, but Fred thinks he's done his shoulder in riding that motorcycle." She raised her eyebrows playfully at her friends, and giggling girlishly, gestured to them to follow. Patrick and Shelagh caught each other's gaze and burst out laughing.

"Now it'll be all over Poplar that I've seduced you after just one week of being out of the habit."

"Doctor Turner, I do believe you're blushing."

Patrick took her hand, the moment gone for anything more intimate. "Come on," he teased, "I think it's time to face the music, don't you?"

**Please review if you have the time :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry it's taken so long to update - I've been waiting to get to this scene, got a little carried away ;) hopefully it's worth it, please do let me know! **

After their attempt at secrecy had backfired on them, Patrick and Shelagh decided a private walk was probably well over due, but the following few days were to be a flurry of activity for the lovers. Jenny Lee had promised not to tell about the near-kiss she had witnessed, but there was such a smirk on her face when they arrived back at Nonnatus that soon the game was soon up. When they got in Fred's shoulder needed seeing to, but as Patrick made his separate way he gave Shelagh's hand a squeeze, and kissed her briefly on the cheek. He knew as well as anybody the poor woman was going to be pounced on as soon as the nurses saw Jenny's poorly-concealed excitement; there was no point hiding their closeness now. It felt strange being able to touch her in public, and it scared him slightly. It felt like in this house of nuns God was looking down upon his every move, and Shelagh was right, she had only been a week out of the habit. He was most apprehensive about how Sister Evangelina would take their news, and felt rather guilty as he strode off to tend to Fred in the boiler room - Shelagh would have to tell the disapproving nun alone.

As it was, there was such a communal flap over the engagement that, even if she had wanted to pass comment, Sister Evangelina would not have been heard. And Sister Julienne made a point of gushing joyfully over a relieved Shelagh to reinforce her approval, her serene features radiating exaltation, and her hand clasped her cross in a fever of thanksgiving to God for showing her dear Shelagh the true path to happiness and devotion. When Doctor Turner came in some minutes later, he was met with an expectant silence and the distinct sound of scandalised giggles being suppressed. 'Poor man' thought Shelagh watching fondly as his eyes flickered nervously under his dark eyebrows. It took all the strength she could muster to cross over to her fiancé and take his arm supportively. Then all of a sudden someone started to clap, and everyone joined in, the couple acknowledging the applause with baffled grins and looks at each other that shared a private astonishment. "I've got to go home to Timothy." Patrick escaped; Shelagh had to remain and be fussed over long into the night. When she finally got to bed, her mind was racing, and she was sure her heartbeat had still not returned to normal after that world-stopping moment when he had nearly kissed her.

As she lay in bed she mentally re-played that moment when Patrick bent his head towards her, but her imagination failed her as soon as she got to the point where Jenny's entrance had stopped their lips from meeting. Somehow she just couldn't imagine what kissing him would be like, and her whole being cried out to be taught. Patrick was also kept awake by the tantalising closeness they had been to a kiss. It was painful to think of how much he had wanted that kiss, and cursed Nurse Lee for coming in when she did, although he knew it wasn't her fault. He would ask Shelagh to walk with him in the park, which was well out of the hub of Poplar. Hopefully they could have a moment's privacy there.

Patrick arrived at the park the following afternoon fifteen minutes after the time they had arranged. He spotted Shelagh standing just inside the gates, looking breathtaking in a coral coloured blouse that made her sapphire eyes twinkle more than he ever imagined they could. He wondered if in time he would ever be able to see her without his stomach doing somersaults. She was standing with her shoes in her hand, stockinged feet placed demurely together on the concrete path. Her face lit up when she saw Patrick jog to meet her. "Sorry I'm late," he smiled bashfully, his brow furrowed in concern. Shelagh wanted to reach out and smooth it with her fingers, but restrained herself.

"I thought you'd developed cold feet already," she teased, transferring her shoes from one hand to the other to take his arm.

"No, but you actually might in a minute," he pointed out. It had been raining earlier on, and the path was spotted with lingering puddles.

"It's fine, the ground's perfectly dry now," she explained, "I just can't seem to get used to these high heels. I used to wear them all the time once, now they just give me blisters. I hope you're not ashamed by my unladylike behaviour." They set off, avoiding the puddles, but otherwise too wrapped up in their closeness to notice their surroundings.

"I could never be ashamed of having you on my arm, shoes or no shoes," he replied tenderly. "I wouldn't be surprised if you were ashamed of me though." She stopped in her tracks and turned to face him, eyes ablaze.

"Whatever do you mean?" she questioned.

"Well, you saw the Nonnatus lot yesterday. They were laughing at me. I'm old and worn out and you're young and beautiful." Shelagh silenced him with one stern breath, although her heart leapt to hear him say those last words. He had never explicitly told her she was beautiful before. Patrick sighed, defeated without her even saying anything. The power of her gaze was enough to tell him she loved him with the whole of her heart.

"And I have the worst taste in ties," he finished, meekly. She laughed her melodious laugh -

"That one's true." They continued to walk, only this time, emboldened by Shelagh's reassurance, he held her hand, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world. "Seriously, though, the others just need some time to get used to it, after all, we've both been their colleagues for years. Just imagine if Fred and Sister Evangelina suddenly announced they were engaged, that's not too dissimilar." Patrick burst out laughing at this preposterous thought, and shook his head at Shelagh's unassuming wit; was there no aspect to his fiancée's personality that wasn't absolutely marvellous?

Having been lucky thus far, there came a point where the path was completely submerged in water, and Shelagh held back, anxious about ruining her stockings, which had been leant to her by Cynthia until she had time to go into town to buy some of her own. "I've probably done them enough damage as it is," she frowned. "I should probably take them off."

"If somebody were to see that they'd definitely get the wrong idea," remarked Patrick with his best poker face. "Now _you're_ blushing," he added, his face cracking into his adorable lopsided smile. She averted her gaze to her feet. "There's only one thing for it-" Suddenly Shelagh found his arms around her and she was being carried across the flood. Their eyes did not leave each other's the whole way; Patrick got his ankles splashed and didn't even notice when the icy water seeped into his socks. He was helplessly lost in Shelagh, and she in him. At the other side he gently let her down, but kept her gathered to him, his hands determinedly on her hips. She pursed her lips subconsciously in trepidation, then before she knew it his mouth was against hers and she leant back in his arms with a soft moan of surprise. She dropped her shoes. He broke away, not wanting to rush her, but as soon as he did so, Shelagh discovered to stop was the last thing she wanted. She wanted his lips upon hers again, and she tugged pleadingly at his jacket. He obliged in a whirlwind of feeling, deepening the kiss, moving to graze his lips across her jaw line, and back to hover over hers. "I love you Shelagh," he whispered. Shelagh could not make her brain work properly to formulate words, so she replied in the only way she could: with a kiss so urgent and hungry she surprised even herself.

When they finally broke away they were both flushed and out of breath. They walked silently back to his car, and held hands all the way back to Nonnatus, just as they had done that first day when he had found her wandering in the mist. To think of how far they had come in such a short space of time. When he pulled up outside the convent, Patrick pulled Shelagh to him and kissed her lingeringly on the mouth. "Doctor Turner!" she gasped, "You'd better let me go, Sister Evangelina's probably posted herself at a window, making sure you bring me home. You'll confirm her suspicions that you're up to no good." Patrick, while kissing her again, said something that sounded suspiciously like 'to hell with Sister Evangelina', which Shelagh decided to ignore. She was enjoying herself far too much.

**Please review if you have the time :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Continued thanks for the encouraging reviews, keep them coming! :) Thought I'd indulge myself and do a quick chapter of wedding planning... **

It snowed the entire week leading up to the wedding. They had decided to be married on December 23rd, so their honeymoon and holidays off work would coincide - this was a good few months after their engagement, but it felt appropriate to wait. For a start they had to win over a still unconvinced Sister Evangelina; the last thing anyone wanted was tension spoiling the happy day. Shelagh had started back as a midwife part time, after all, she was still supposed to be convalescing after her brush with mortality. The days she had off she spent trying desperately to make herself useful, helping to clean the convent, helping with paperwork when they were short-staffed. She ended up working just as hard as if she had been out on calls, and Sister Julienne resorted to confining her to her room for periods at a time. Shelagh tried to protest, but was wary of sounding obstinate and ungrateful, and she knew deep down it was sensible to rest, so obediently did as she was told. She could not wait to escape the monotony and begin her new life, although she doubted things would be much different when she was married to Doctor Turner. Knowing him he would probably be more protective than even the devoted Sister Julienne. But she would cross that hurdle when she got to it; to be Mrs Turner she would suffer anything.

As the wedding drew nearer, the flurries of snow outside reflected the flurry of excitement within. Jenny, who had always designed her own dresses, begged to design Shelagh's, and Chummy offered to make it. Shelagh could not have been more grateful. Though she did not like to admit it, fashion still terrified her greatly. She was still getting to grips with what suited her body shape, and what colours she could and couldn't wear. After Patrick had told her one day how stunning she looked in cornflower blue, she had worn nothing but that shade for a week, until Trixie had had a flap about such a flagrant disregard for the rules of fashion, and Shelagh had admitted defeat. They had sat on Shelagh's bed on their first 'wedding planning night' and giggling like schoolgirls had began to formulate a plan for the perfect winter wedding. Together they decided on a flowing floor-length skirt, and had found a pattern for an elegant jacket with dozens of pearl buttons up the front. Shelagh could hardly contain her excitement, and had to exercise an enormous amount of restraint not to let any details slip to her fiancé.

"Now what about hair?" Cynthia said one such evening, after the second round of drinks (which were probably more alcoholic that any of them appreciated!)

"Up, with curls."

"Down, definitely down."

Shelagh intervened. "I just want something simple-" she began.

"Simple?!" exclaimed Trixie in indignation. "If you say that word again I'll withdraw from preparations!"

Cynthia tried to placate her. "If Shelagh wants simple, it's up to her. Anyway, you'll look lovely in whatever you wear, and Patrick will think so too." Shelagh blushed, and smiled at Cynthia in gratitude.

Sister Monica Joan, it soon became clear, although not likely to sit in on the late night planning sessions, wanted a piece of the action too. "What a desolate place would be a world without a flower! It would be a face without a smile, a feast without a welcome. Are not flowers the stars of the earth, and are not our stars the flowers of the heaven!" she had recited one breakfast time, when the impending wedding was the topic of conversation (which it very rarely wasn't). After a puzzled silence, Sister Evangelina sighed.

"I think what Sister is trying to express is that she would like to help with the flowers. Am I right?" Sister Monica Joan merely grinned and squeezed Shelagh's hand, and Sister Evangelina promised to monitor the arrangements carefully. "You'll end up with roses, dandelions and birch twigs if we're not careful," she huffed. Perhaps this wedding was closer to her heart than she was letting on.

The weeks flew by, and soon December 23rd was upon them. With emotions running high Shelagh and Patrick said goodnight for the last time before the big day, and as he held her gently in his arms and kissed her tremulously on the forehead, Shelagh found herself bursting into tears. "I just can't believe this is all happening," she laughed, wiping her eyes with her cuffs. "I never thought I could love a human being like I love you, and be loved in return." Patrick brushed away her tears and silenced her with a slow kiss.

"We are going to be so happy together," he breathed, "and you are going to make the best mother to Timothy."

"Oh stop it, you'll set me off again," Shelagh sniffed, burying her face in his jumper, and clinging to him tightly.

"Now off you go, and get your beauty sleep. I'll see you at the chapel tomorrow afternoon."

"If you don't get snowed in," she added, and he kissed her again, smiling against her lips, wordlessly giving her the courage she needed to take the final step of her journey, and the first step of a new one.

**Please review if you have the time :) Next chapter... the wedding!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks once again for keeping me going with your wonderful comments :) sorry it took a bit of time to post this chapter - I so wanted to get it right. I've given them the wedding of me dreams... I hope you like it ;) Please do post suggestions for future chapters, if you want to see more. **

Doctor Turner stood in a fever of anticipation amid a sea of enraptured familiar faces. To say that the tiny chapel had been made to look beautiful would be an understatement. With the winter darkness in full force outside, the interior was quite dark, but hundreds of white candles glimmered at all levels around the room amid wreaths of glossy holly, spangled with crimson berries. The effect was truly magical; it felt as if heaven itself might be something like this, and the doctor was certainly in a very special personal paradise. As he smiled nervously at everyone who caught his eye, he saw image after image of the times he and Shelagh had spent together, flicking through his head in glorious technicolour: the shared cigarettes, the time when they had taken on the board of health, and won, the look in her eyes as he had checked her breathing after the x-ray and had heard her heart drumming as painfully fast as his own.

Shelagh was waiting in the corridor, subtly doing deep breathing exercises to try to calm her fluttering heart. She was about to give her whole self up to one man, having lived the last ten years of her life married to God. She knew exactly how to live her life in religious devotion - she could pray, sing and do selfless deeds in her sleep - such worship was ingrained in her being after all these years. She was nervous about her abilities when it came to fulfilling God's new plan for her. She had no experience to help her when it came to the worship realised through being a wife and mother, and to do this well was her biggest wish in the world. Her pre-wedding jitters were fuelled by the hyperactive mood of Jenny, Trixie, Jane and Chummy, who were fussing around her, adjusting and readjusting her dress, and generally acting like excited little girls who were to be bridesmaids for the first time.

It was freezing cold in the corridor, and Trixie was beginning to flap that her nose would go red. "I suppose it would match the holly berries, but that's no consolation." As she spoke, she patted her hair and pricked herself on the small sprig of holly that nestled into her curls, one of Sister Monica Joan's unconventional touches, sweet, but rather uncomfortable. The girls were decked out in angelic snow white dresses that were more aesthetic than practical in the sub zero temperature. Unsurprisingly though, it was Shelagh who stole the day in her ever humble and unassuming way. As the chapel doors finally opened, and she stood framed in the doorway with dust particles dancing around her in the candlelight, she looked more like an angel from heaven than anyone present had thought any mortal could.

Her burnished tresses had been twisted round her head in a sort of wreath, with white-berried mistletoe woven in. Her skirt, which was of ivory rayon (cheaply obtained from the market by Fred, with no questions asked), draped elegantly as she walked steadily down the aisle. This time, in her simple satin heels she felt not in the least bit unstable; she had been practising after dark along the corridors of Nonnatus, and anyway, just one smile from her entranced doctor put all nerves from her mind. "You look divine," he breathed as she reached him at the altar. Divine was certainly the word. As they knelt under the snow-speckled window, fingers entwined, Patrick thought he'd come as near to experiencing God as he ever had. Shelagh couldn't believe that not so long ago she had been kneeling at this very rail, crying her eyes out before her Lord, seeking guidance that seemed not to come.

The ceremony went without a glitch, and when it came to "you have declared your commitment to each other before this congregation and before God. I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride," something made Shelagh glance upwards. Someone had hung some mistletoe concealed high in the rafters. Patrick followed her gaze, and the pair shared a private laugh. Only Trixie knew what was going on - she caught the doctor's eye and gave him a delighted wink. Patrick put his hands each side of his bride's neck and leant down to place a kiss on her lips. She leant in at his touch, then they broke apart, foreheads still touching, grins plastered on both their faces. Everyone else was grinning too; the adoration that radiated from the couple touched every heart in the room, even Sister Evangelina's. She gave Patrick a slow approving nod as he walked out of the chapel. The only other approval that meant more to him was Timothy's. And the little boy was cheering louder than anyone. When the couple passed by his seat, he rushed out and flung his arms around Shelagh's waist, nearly knocking her backwards. She hugged him back as best as she could while holding her trailing bouquet and Patrick's hand at the same time. "Hello mum," Timothy said.

"Hello son," she replied, the words catching in her throat.

In the entrance hall of Nonnatus, Fred and his scouts had a system going to get all the guests their coats, then everyone trailed outside into the snow, headed by the new Mr and Mrs Turner. Shelagh was once again carrying her shoes; she had donned boots for the trek to the church hall for the reception, as had the bridesmaids, who were teasing each other profusely. Snowflakes swirled in the air and settled in Shelagh's hair and eyelashes. "You look beautiful in the snow," Patrick laughed, wrapping his arms around his wife, who was shivering slightly. "You do realise that with mistletoe in your hair I'm going to have to kiss you all the time."

Shelagh grinned, her breath turning to crystals in the air. "That was Trixie's idea - I knew there'd be a motive, and I think you've found it."

Patrick dropped a kiss on her hairline, and another into her hair. "Careful," she chuckled. "Mistletoe is poisonous I believe."

"There's only one thing for it then," he whispered, and turned instead to kissing her firmly on the mouth.

"Come on you lovebirds! We're all freezing to death, there's plenty of time for that sort of thing later!" came a shout. The couple had been so blissfully absorbed in each other that they had forgotten the rest of the party behind them. They were still not totally used to private intimacy, let alone public - they blushed and shuffled their feet.

"Yes, go on Shelagh, throw your bouquet!" stepped in Cynthia, quickly.

"I can't, it's got holly in it," came the reply. "It's lethal!" The crafty Sister Monica Joan chuckled impishly.

"We've all got gloves on, it'll be fine, go on."

Patrick gazed dotingly at his wife, who gave a radiant smile as she threw the bouquet over her head. It soared through the snow and landed amid squeals of excitement as the party jostled to discover the identity of the lucky recipient...

**Please review if you have the time :) ps - any thoughts as to who the recipient should be?!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Thank you as always for your lovely reviews - they really do help to get me writing, so do keep them coming!**

Sister Evangelina stood red-faced and unimpressed clutching the dismantling bouquet. The bride caught her groom's eye and immediately got the giggles. "Go on Fred, there's your chance!" she exclaimed, shocked at her own cheekiness. Patrick tried desperately not to laugh, keen not to ruin his new-found approval from the brusque older nun.

"No thank you," harrumphed the Sister, glaring daggers at the pair of them. "Even if I was at liberty to, I could never marry a man who once named a pig after me."

"It was supposed to be an honour!" put in Jenny, biting her lip to stop herself from laughing.

Sister Evangelina merely groaned, and roughly pushed the bouquet at a bemused Jane, who was proudly arm in arm with her Reverend Appleby-Thornton. "I think this young lady needs this more than me."

...

Later that evening, Patrick fumbled with his keys as he unlocked the front door. Shelagh stood timidly behind him, her hands clasped in front of her, her eyes trained on his back. The snow had eased off, save for a few flakes which swirled in the air, tickling her face and spotting the lenses of her glasses. She grew tired of wiping them and took them off, blinking rapidly. When Patrick succeeded with the door and turned round to his wife, his mouth fell open in surprise at how different she looked. "I don't think I've seen you properly without your glasses," he explained. "That's one change I'd never get used to."

"Well, luckily for you, you won't have to," she replied. "I'm as blind as a bat without them." He moved forward and took the glasses from her hands, placing them gently back in their place, his hands lingering behind her ears and moving down to her neck, holding her as he had done at the altar only a few hours ago. "We're letting the cold in," she murmured after a few moments of blissful silence, gesturing to the wide open door. Patrick noticed then that she was shivering, and cursed himself for being so forgetful of her still fragile constitution. Swiftly, he swept Shelagh up in his arms. She gasped in surprise, then giggled shyly as he carried her across the threshold. She melted against the warmth of his body, feeling safer than ever encircled by his strong, caring arms. When he came to put her down, she found her heart protesting, longing for her body to be close to him again, to feel his heart pounding in his chest in time with her own.

They walked hand in hand to the living room. Shelagh removed her coat and placed it over the arm of the settee, revealing once more her exquisite wedding dress. It looked somehow out of place in this drab modern setting; it was made to be worn against a backdrop of flowers and in the glimmer of candlelight.

"Wait there," breathed Patrick, leaving Shelagh to her thoughts. She was forced to steady herself against the back of a chair, absently tugging at a tendril of hair that had come loose and lay across her forehead as she prayed for courage with all her might. Patrick returned within minutes with a handful of small candles, which he placed around the room and lit, before turning to look intently at his bride. "That's better," he smiled, and Shelagh's stomach flipped as his eyebrows tilted upwards in that oh so familiar expression of compassion and love. There was questioning in that expression too, and Shelagh did not need to be told the reason - it was their wedding night after all. She let out a jagged breath and swallowed hard, not knowing what to do next. She was fixed to the spot, and could only manage to gaze openly into Patrick's eyes as he walked across the carpet to take her hands in his. He brought them to his lips and kissed them, lingering over the spot where a gold wedding band now joined the diamond he had kissed so many times before. "I'm the luckiest man in the world," he whispered, sweeping the honey-toned tendril away from her face, hungrily taking in every last detail of her looks while she clung helplessly to the waist of his jacket. He kissed her then, gently opening her lips with his. She kissed him back, moving her hands to cup his face. At the feel of her soft hands on his skin, Patrick quivered and began to kiss his trembling bride with a greater urgency than ever before.

Shelagh gasped at this new level of intensity, but could not hold back. She did not want to hold back. Suddenly her knees turned to jelly, and they sunk onto the settee, flushed and breathless, revelling in the kiss as if it was their first. Patrick discarded his tie and broke away to carefully place Shelagh's glasses on the sideboard, not wasting a second in returning to her mouth, his hand brushing the soft curve of her waist. With shaking hands he moved to undo the first of the pearl buttons at Shelagh's neck. They proved more fiddly than they had bargained for, and there were so many of them! By the time he'd managed to remove her jacket the pair were considerably flustered and laughing uncontrollably; the ice was broken and Mr and Mrs Turner returned to each other's arms in a happy delirium until the last of the candles flickered and died, and Patrick led his bride reverently upstairs.

Shelagh was the first to wake in the morning. After ten years of waking up at four thirty for prayers her body clock never let her sleep past six. She gazed in wonder at the sleeping form of her husband beside her, still not fully believing that this was all real. She just could not stop smiling; the happiness that she felt was so acute that it hurt. Only this was not the same hurt as the one she had experienced before, where his presence had filled her heart to bursting but left a great gaping hole when he left, to the point where she felt as if she would die for want of him. This time she knew he wasn't going anywhere, and that he was unashamedly and freely hers. She yawned contentedly and went to run her hand through her hair, only to find it still in its updo, if extremely dishevelled. She chuckled as she found a sprig of mistletoe still caught in a hairpin, then disentangled it and twirled it absently between her finger and thumb until she was brought to her senses by a small movement beside her. Gingerly at first, then with greater assurance, she leant gently over Patrick's torso, and when his eyes fluttered open she gave a playful grin, holding the mistletoe above them. "Morning doctor," she beamed.

"Morning, my darling," came his delighted reply. "You know, I think whoever invented mistletoe was the most wonderful person. I intend to thank them." And he pressed his lips onto hers with a sigh.

"I think you'll find that would be God," Shelagh teased. "And I thank Him enough for the both of us, every hour of the day."

**Please review if you have the time :)**


	10. Chapter 10

**Cannot express how wonderful it is to receive your reviews - so glad people are still enjoying reading it as much as I am writing it :D**

The new Mr and Mrs Turner were invited to Nonnatus house for supper on Christmas Eve. As soon as they arrived, Shelagh was whisked off to Trixie's room, where all the young nurses were avidly waiting. She pursed her lips and restlessly adjusted her glasses; she knew what was coming, and decided to play along. "Well then?" pouted Trixie, tugging Shelagh onto the bed, her demanding wide-open eyes framed by perfectly manicured brows.

"Well what?" came the maddening reply. Shelagh refused to look any of the girls in the eye, but was aware of a small commotion going on before her: Trixie was being ticked off by the considerate Cynthia, while modest Jenny pretended not to be in the least bit interested, when clearly she was dreadfully curious, just like the others. Trixie sighed, and crossed her arms.

"We need to know all the juicy details," she cried, giving an exasperated sigh.

"Oh do you?" responded Shelagh, rather more reproachfully than she had meant.

"Hush now Trixie," began Chummy, crossing over to stand above Shelagh at the foot of the bed, and placing a protective hand on her friend's shoulder. "Don't let her bully you, old thing. I had just the same thing the day after my wedding. I'm afraid interrogation is an occupational hazard of being a blushing bride."

"And you don't have to tell us anything at all," reminded Cynthia, moderately.

"But we won't speak to you ever again if you do that!" Trixie teased, taking a long drag on her cigarette with a practised air of glamour. "And if you say a word about having been a nun, I'll personally throttle you. You're a midwife first and foremost, and so are we. So spill the beans." Shelagh's face creased into an expression of mock disapproval, and the nurses let out a sigh of relief; she had them worried for a moment that they had offended her, gone a step too far, but the new Mrs Turner's eyes had regained their captivating twinkle.

"I think I can safely say there are worse ways to spend an evening!" she said at length, blushing crimson and receiving the nurses' delighted shrieks with adorable mortification, which only spurred them on. Everyone, even the normally timid Jane, begged Shelagh to illuminate, but she buried her head in her knees and refused to comply, grinning conspiratorially to herself. "One thing I will say is that I'm surprised someone didn't realise that there was a slight fault with the design of my wedding dress." An expectant hush fell.

"What on earth do you mean?"

"There were just too many fiddly little buttons, it was all rather awkward!" This set everyone of in another fit of hysterics; Trixie failed to stop herself from squealing as inappropriate thoughts of her colleagues entered her mind.

"I'll never be able to work with Doctor Turner again," she yelped.

"Well you asked for it!" Shelagh smiled fondly at Trixie's sudden change of heart. "Honestly, you're like a bunch of silly schoolgirls, the lot of you," she exclaimed, flushed and grinning ear to ear as she tried to hush them, to no avail.

Suddenly there came a smart rap on the door, and five red faces turned to see Sister Evangelina staring back at them. "Dear me," she exclaimed, "I don't think they can quite hear you down at the docks. I can't imagine what on earth you can find to talk about that is so exciting." Trixie stifled a giggle in her pillow, and the nun cast a knowing glance at a mortified Shelagh, before announcing that dinner was served and sweeping from the room.

Sitting proudly next to his wife at the dining table, Patrick pretended not to notice the way in which the young nurses kept glancing in their direction and trying not to giggle. He caught Shelagh narrowing her eyes at them, and secretly took her hand under the table, caressing her palm with the most careful and tentative of touches. Her heart leapt to her throat, and she gave his hand a grateful squeeze. When they got home, Patrick made a bee-line to the kitchen, feeling cups of tea were definitely in order. He filled the kettle as Shelagh got the cups out, both of them feeling a secret twinge of contentment as she went straight to the right cupboard without having to think. As they settled into married life it would be the little things such as this that meant the most. "Did you manage to escape?" he laughed, sounding more than a little exhausted.

"No," she replied meekly, letting him wind his arm around her waist, leaning her head against his shoulder. He smelt of aftershave and Henleys and _home_. "I was dragged into Trixie's room. If I'd have been at gunpoint being asked for information I wouldn't have been more terrified."

"I hope you gave them torturously cryptic answers," he grinned, putting the kettle on the stove, his hand never straying from his wife's waist.

"Oh yes," came the reply, and Shelagh found herself blushing faintly as she suddenly realised how casually she and her doctor were talking about their first night together, chatting as easily as if spirit-lamps and sterilising equipment were the subject.

"Don't worry, I had just as hard a time of it. First Fred and Peter kept winking at me, and then I was sitting having tea with the nuns and we could hear this faint shrieking and giggling in the distance, and it was obvious what all the excitement was about." Shelagh bit her lip, resting her hands gently on his chest. Earlier on in the day she had left behind one of her fair hairs on his jumper, which she now picked off, subconsciously; she no longer had to fight the caring instincts that came to her whenever Patrick was near. The idea of her former Sisters and the speculative nurses even acknowledging the new private side of her life embarrassed her greatly. Even without the factor of her former nun's inexperience in relationships her nature lead her to shy away from introspection and personal gossip. Patrick took one look at the reserve in his wife's eyes and the flush on her cheeks and understood immediately. Shelagh felt the warmth of his hands on her arms, her shoulders, her neck, and instinct led her to close her eyes.

"I feel like they'll never get used to us living together," he continued. "I'm worried it might change things." He ran a hand through his already messy dark crop of hair - now it was Shelagh's turn to reassure; she stilled his hand, and brought it to her lips.

"We have found each other, and that is all that matters," she whispered earnestly, addressing her own anxious heart as well as his. Her breath grazed Patrick's knuckles, sending a thrill down his spine. "The awkwardness will wear off," she smiled shyly, gazing deep into his eyes. "Nothing could be more natural than two people who love each other wanting to be together and make each other happy every second of the day. You'd have to be pretty stupid to not accept that, and our friends aren't stupid."

Patrick felt a fresh wave of admiration sweep over him; the woman that stood determinedly before him, her heart and soul reaching out to him in the openness of her gaze - she was far too sensitive, too good - he could not imagine what he had done to deserve her. "You always know what to say," he smiled.

"No I don't." She shook her head. "There have been so many times when no matter how much I yearn to respond, I cannot find the words."

"It doesn't matter anymore," Patrick murmured, his voice low and thick with emotion. "We can do very well with no words at all." And he kissed her, enveloping her petite frame up in his arms, gaining confidence with her every response, the whistling of the kettle as it came to boil going unnoticed behind them as they lost and found themselves once again in each other's arms.

**Please review if you have the time :)**


	11. Chapter 11

**Sorry for the delay - I thought I had finished, but the marvelous and expectant reviews got the better of me and I found myself writing more. Just a quick one to get back into it - I would appreciate suggestions for further chapters :)**

The bottom of the door made a muffled scraping sound as it pressed across the carpet of the Turners' bedroom. The noise stopped as the motion was immediately halted, the anxious silence that followed broken only by the soft ticking of the bedside clock and the adults' contented breathing. They were still asleep. Timothy sighed with relief and slipped through the opening, tiptoeing round the foot of the bed to the window, dragging a crammed stocking along behind him. With a flourish and a shout of "Merry Christmas!" he flung the curtains open and the room was flooded with the silvery early-morning light, bringing everything sharply into focus and making the adults blink and groan in protestation. "And it's still snowing!" Timothy was peering eagerly out of the window, his back to the bed, where Shelagh and Patrick were gradually gaining consciousness. Patrick shivered. He suddenly realised the covers were pushed right back and the two of them were quite exposed. He had woken bare-chested lying on his front with his arm across Shelagh's body, her flimsy night-dress ruched up, his hand resting comfortably at the top of her thigh. One of her straps had worked its way down her arm, showing rather more décolletage than she would have ever thought proper in her former life. He flushed and whipped his hand away as Shelagh quickly adjusted her dress, just in time, as Timothy now spun around to check they were as ecstatic about Christmas Day as he was.

He wasn't entirely satisfied with the result. "Ten past six," frowned Patrick as Shelagh drowsily fumbled for her glasses. Anxious his wife would catch a chill, Patrick drew her gently to him and reached to pull the covers over them both. Shelagh settled gratefully into her husband's arms, her breath catching in her throat at the wonder of waking up in her doctor's embrace hit her once again. She felt the light brush of his lips on the top of her head, and her skin tingled everywhere it made contact with his, just as it had always done during the fleeting moments of contact when the nun and the doctor had gone about their work, only now with the raw intensity of being flesh against flesh. She blushed as she realised she was having these thoughts with Timothy standing at the end of their bed.

"It's later than last year," the boy protested, "Shelagh said no earlier than six to me last night, and I kept my word."

"Oh she did, did she?" Patrick looked down at the dozing form in his arms, her honey-toned hair rumpled and splayed feather-like across his chest, her eyelids fluttering sleepily across those china blue eyes. "We're not all early birds like you, my love," he laughed. With his thumb he slowly stroked her bottom lip and heard a small sigh escape her. She looked so exquisite in the glow of dawn; he wanted nothing more than to gather her up and kiss her, and he found himself resenting the presence of his oblivious son. To make matters worse, Timothy now crawled right onto the bed, pushing between the couple and snuggling beneath the covers, his stocking hauled onto his lap. Patrick sighed audibly at this further invasion of their privacy, but the light in Shelagh's eyes as she watched the excitement of her step-son was more than enough to soothe his frustration. The doctor subtly reached behind his son to run his fingers through his wife's hair, desperate to keep contact, no matter how small.

"Surely you're too old to get into bed with us," he smirked at Timothy, who had wasted no time getting going on his stash of gifts and was ruthlessly tearing off tissue paper left right and centre.

"I'm just so excited," grinned the little boy, "it feels like ages since we've had a proper Christmas - now we've got a family again, it's going to be so much fun."

Patrick caught Shelagh's gaze, and she beamed back at him, her eyes glassy with pride and gratitude. Unable to restrain herself any longer she captured his hand and trailed delicate but passionate kisses on his careworn fingers, delighting in feeling them curl and quiver under her lips. Timothy was too busy to notice - all the time Shelagh clung on to her husband's hand, her tremulous caresses silently conveying the words that he was saying over to himself in his mind - _I want you, I need you, I love you_...

**Please review if you have the time :)**


	12. Chapter 12

**Another quick and cheesy update - I may start a new fic to enter into the pitter patter of tiny feet stage, but not sure yet! Please keep the reviews and suggestions coming :D**

The next stage of Shelagh and Patrick's journey had well and truly begun, and everyone agreed that married life suited them down to a tee. Everyone agreed that Dr Turner looked younger than they had ever seen him, and benefited not only from his competence as a medic, but also from the infectious good humour and optimism that he exuded from his fingertips. The residents of Poplar soon got used to the sight of Nurse Turner cycling with a new confidence down the streets, and they watched with great fondness each time she sped past a shop window and cast a sneaky glance at her reflection, pursing her lips to stop herself from grinning in disbelief every time she caught the flash of blue and crimson in the glass. Trixie was delighted by her friend's new uniform - "the dress makes your eyes look different," she had verified, "they're a sort of greyish blue normally, but in that they look a more pleasing _azure_."

"That wouldn't even have crossed my mind," she had replied. "I can assure you there are plenty more things I have gained from these clothes than bluer-looking eyes." In truth, her new uniform represented all the things she had secured by following the road she had chosen. She now had freedom, and didn't need to hide mouse-like behind the habit that swamped her, feeling only now truly able to embrace herself as a person, as a woman. It was funny, she thought, that it should be a uniform that gave her the feeling of individuality. It represented her continued vocation to care for her community as a nurse and a midwife, and her religious calling was never far from her mind either; the silver cross she had received from Timothy never strayed from its place tucked safely beneath her collar.

It took time for them to get used to having to work together just as they had done before, but with so much of their relationship changed. They were still impeccable professionals as they went about their shared duties, but whenever Dr Turner's name was mentioned in clinic Shelagh's heart gave a little flutter and more than one canny mother to be had remarked upon the girlish blush that swept Nurse Turner's cheeks when the doctor came to assist an examination and winked secretly at his wife. The women of Poplar even found themselves desperately hoping to have their children delivered by Nurse Turner, just because they found her and her doctor's quiet and devoted way of working together adorable to watch. In short, theirs was the big romance of the community, smiled over and simpered at while the couple in question pretended not to notice.

"Tea, nurse?" Patrick would say at the end of their appointments, and she would smile back, "yes please, doctor," before following him into the kitchen. Here they would stand, exactly as they had done so many times before, the sunlight dancing on their faces and all sorts of other light dancing in their eyes, until their colleagues came in, grinning at the sight of the couple standing so naturally, cups of tea in one hand and their fingers always entwined between them on the worktop. Once, after Shelagh had said something particularly witty, Patrick had been overwhelmed with affection, and Sister Evangelina had appeared to find him pressing kisses into Shelagh's neck. She had not been amused. "Doctor Turner!" she had cried, "restrain yourself, remember where you are and who might come in. Shelagh, I am amazed, in uniform too."

"She's just jealous," snorted Patrick when the indignant nun had grabbed a biscuit and stormed away, but Shelagh averted her gaze, evidently mortified, and gently put her hand on his chest to hold him back as he lifted her chin and made to move towards her again. His eyebrows twisted up in alarm, and Shelagh's stomach churned as a spike of hurt flickered in his gaze. "Please darling," she began, "I don't feel confident enough yet to hold a true sway over my feelings." She bit her lip, not sure she even made sense to herself. "I get so blown away when we're together and I can't think straight. I haven't quite left Sister Bernadette behind, and I get uncomfortable sometimes showing affection in front of her, let alone under the eyes of others. Do you understand?"

"No," Patrick laughed, stroking the strong line of his wife's cheek in concern.

"Nor do I," she admitted, laughing too, moving to put her arms around his waist, closing her eyes against the warmth of his shoulder. "I know it's been months, but I'm still trying to get used to being this close to someone, to let myself believe this is all true. It still feels strange to be held like this, to feel this way. It's wonderful, truly it is, I just still find it odd from time to time, especially when the nuns see us together."

Patrick still didn't quite understand, but then he had never been in the position where such feelings were out of bounds, and he was experienced in love and the giddy kaleidoscope of passion that came with it. Shelagh was looking up at him so desperately; she had thought he was the one that needed her, that he and Timothy needed looking after, which was in many ways the truth. But now she realised more than ever that she needed him, needed his strength, his experience, the healing power of his kisses. She needed him tell her she would never need to feel alone or confused again. To love her - to never let go of her hand.

**Please review if you have the time :)**


	13. Chapter 13

As the months went on, Shelagh completely relaxed into her new role of wife and mother, finding unending joy in the simplest tasks of caring and providing for her small family, tasks that the majority of women would take for granted. She saw every job as an opportunity to lavish love upon her husband and stepson, who in turn did everything they could to make Shelagh feel at home. Every afternoon she would pick Timothy up from school on her way back from Nonnatus. The young boy would meet her at the gates with the brightest of smiles and would never fail to throw his arms around her waist in an excited hug before setting off on a gabbled account of what he had been doing in his classes that day. Shelagh, with her attentive and quiet disposition, proved the most attractive of listeners to the enthusiastic schoolboy; his father was so rarely free to take an interest in his lessons, no matter how much he wanted to, and of course was immeasurably glad that his son had taken such a shine to his new mother - it could have been such a different story.

"Hello Timothy," Shelagh called brightly as she approached the school gates one particularly humid afternoon.

"Hello mum," the little boy replied, burying his face in her cardigan as soon as she got to him. He was rather floppy and his head leant heavily against her chest. With the utmost concern, Shelagh prized him away and examined his face. His skin was ghostly white and his eyes flickered out of dull purplish hollows. His forehead was clammy when she put her palm against it.

"Timothy, you poor thing, whatever's the matter?"

"I was sick at lunchtime, so they put me in the medical room. I think I've eaten something strange."

"Why didn't you get the teachers to call for me at Nonnatus? I would have picked you up."

"But you've been so busy lately, I didn't want to be a bother."

"Oh Timothy," Shelagh sighed, carefully taking his hand in hers and starting the short walk back home, tears pricking in her eyes. It had been a long, tough shift at Nonnatus; a mother had haemorrhaged, the baby lost. Somehow, now she had a family of her own this sort of thing took its toll more than it used to.

When they got back to the house, she put Timothy straight to bed and called her husband at the hospital. "Doctor Turner here."

"Patrick, it's me." His face lit up as he heard the soft Scottish brogue he so cherished -

"Hello me," he laughed, but his countenance darkened as unmistakable strain crept in to her reply.

"Patrick, is there any chance you could get away just an hour or so early?"

"My love, what's wrong?" came the panicked response, "Are you alright?"

"No no, I'm fine, it's Timothy, he's got what looks to me like mild gastroenteritis or something, the school didn't send him home, and I'm supposed to be on call later on."

"Oh that bloody school-" Patrick muttered. "Is he in bed?"

"Yes, I've just left him, he's sleeping."

"Shelagh, whatever you do don't hang around where you could catch anything."

Shelagh sighed, "Patrick, I'm a nurse, if it's food poisoning it is not infectious-"

He interrupted her, with a tone so anxious and intense Shelagh found herself holding her breath. "And if it isn't? Shelagh, we cannot risk you getting ill again. You know your immune system is still weak-"

"Yes, I think I know that perfectly well," she retorted, getting a little agitated. She was only trying to care for his son, and, as a medical professional herself, being told how to manage her own health did not sit easily with her.

"Please darling," Patrick murmured, "don't get upset, I'll be there as soon as I can." She put the phone down, breathing sharply, and smoothed her eyebrows; all of a sudden she felt really quite exhausted.

When Patrick arrived forty minutes later, he found his wife sitting resolutely by Timothy's bed, reading her Bible as the little boy slept. "Shelagh," he began, tentatively, "do you really think you should be-"

She interrupted him, her manner deliberately calm and her eyes fixed firmly on her lap. "He's been sick a little about half an hour ago, but his temperature's dropping."

"Shelagh-"

"I love your son, and I can't bear to see him suffer, any more than you can. So I have been caring for him; it would be selfish to do otherwise." Her voice wobbled dangerously; she clasped her Bible to her chest and made to leave the room, but as she passed him in the doorway she suddenly found Patrick's hands catch her firmly by the waist. She met his restless gaze, and the next moment she was sobbing quietly into his jacket. "I'm sorry," she whispered when she had composed herself, "I just get so fed up with being the invalid, when all I want to do is help those who are truly suffering." She looked up to search his eyes, and was shocked to find a tear tracing a path down his weathered cheek.

"Oh Shelagh," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. "You are the most wonderful, generous woman on God's earth, and I of all people had no right to patronise you. It's just the thought of you getting ill again scares me more than anything I can think of."

Shelagh kissed his cheek, stopping the tear in its tracks - the salt stung her lips, but she didn't care. "I love you," she whispered, shakily. "Whatever happens, whenever we argue, anything, just remember that. Love is the only thing that matters, when it comes down to it." Patrick smiled from the bottom of his heart, and kissed his wife on the forehead. Shelagh closed her eyes as he brought his lips to hers, and they stayed there, leaning against the doorframe, for a good few minutes, Patrick simply holding on to his wife's waist and kissing her mouth with a remarkably reverent stillness. Then, ever so gently, he prised the Bible away from her fingers, placing it carefully on top of the chest of drawers beside him, leaving her free to continue to worship in a different way, to show her devotion to the man she loved with the same passionate abandon with which she worshiped her Lord.

One of them must have inadvertently let out an audible sigh, because all of a sudden there came an appalled exclamation from a now wide-awake Timothy: "Dad! Not in my room!" The two sprang apart, and Patrick looked sheepishly at his son, straightening his tie and trying to get the feeling of Shelagh's lips tingling upon his out of his mind so he could make an assessment of his son's condition. He failed miserably, and noticed Shelagh seemed to be having a similar sort of trouble as her cheeks had flushed and she became preoccupied with polishing her glasses.

"Well you look better to me," Patrick said having briefly examined his son. "You've been well looked after."

Timothy beamed at Shelagh, who smiled back at him shyly, still leaning loitering in the doorway; she couldn't work out if it was relief at having opened up further to her husband, the giddiness she always fell victim to when he kissed her, or the tiredness of a difficult morning's work taking its toll that made her so reliant on the doorframe for support. Nevertheless, no matter how weak she might feel, she was needed on call at Nonnatus, and, retrieving her Bible, she prayed for energy.

"Now you get some proper sleep, young man, and we'll see if we can't get you to eat something later on," Patrick was saying, tucking the boy in and ruffling his hair. "We'll leave you in peace." He received a cheeky grin in response, and as he shut the door behind him he turned to his wife with a look of defeat. "That child seems to know far too much than is normal for his age."

"He's a very perceptive lad," said Shelagh, leading downstairs and smiling bashfully as Patrick held her coat out for her, always the gentleman. Patrick fixed his wife with an earnest gaze, and furrowed his brow.

"I don't know what's worse," he sighed, "being caught in the act by Sister Evangelina, or by Timothy."

"We'll just have to exercise more restraint in future," Shelagh replied, coyly. Patrick raised his eyebrows suggestively, making her giggle.

"Gosh," she sighed, "I've got a bit hysterical - too many conflicting emotions for one day."

"Off to work with you," smiled Patrick, gently herding his wife out the door. "It would seem that Timothy's had an early night, so perhaps we could start on the restraint thing tomorrow?"

**Please review if you have the time :)**


	14. Chapter 14

**Thanks for your continued support (and patience!) Just a note to say I've tried to be vaguely accurate on the midwifery front, but I don't pretend to have a clue what I'm talking about :P**

"One last push for me Mrs Harvey, just keep squeezing Nurse Noakes' hand." The rest of the tenement block were tucked up in their beds, but in this dingy fifth-floor bedroom it was all go, and spirits were wound up to that point of near fever when a difficult delivery had reached the final leg. When Chummy attended the mother's call at nearly two in the morning it had soon become clear the baby was presenting in the wrong position, and, having no experience in turning a baby, the nurse decided it was best to call on someone who had become famous at Nonnatus for her aptitude in this area; Shelagh had raced in half an hour later, her husband hot on her heels. It was certainly handy for her and the doctor to be living together in situations like this when every second was vital.

Now, at twenty past three, Mrs Harvey's baby was almost delivered. Doctor Turner watched the proceedings from his chair in the corner of the room, finding himself, as he so often did, focused not on the birth but on Nurse Turner's every move. She was applying sideways pressure on the mother's abdomen, her brow creased in concentration and her eyes flickering with fervent prayer. At the same time a flow of encouragement never ceased to pour from her lips, her soft Scottish lilt smoothing the nerves of every person in the room and offering strength not just to the mother but to her colleagues in their final push too. The Doctor, in the knowledge that the mother was in flawlessly competent hands, succumbed once more to memories of all those times he had attended deliveries and felt this burning wonder and respect for the unassuming midwife, thanking his lucky stars as he did every day that the confusion and guilt that followed the past times were now gone forever, revelling in the pride that flooded his every cell now she was his.

"Doctor?" came a rather more insistent appeal from the woman in question, falling on deaf ears as her husband continued to drift in a haze of admiration and reminiscence. "Doctor?" she repeated, this time as urgently as she felt she could be without causing unnecessary unease for the mother. Shelagh momentarily caught Chummy's eye, sighing and flushing in exasperation. "Patrick!"

Doctor Turner leapt to his feet in an instant, throwing his wife and Chummy an apologetic glance and pulling on gloves as Shelagh explained what help she needed. "I've turned the baby but the cord has prolapsed, we need as many hands as we can get. I need Nurse Noakes to keep Mrs Harvey in position, but if you could help me to get the head engaged..." An anxious ten minutes passed, then, to everyone's great relief the baby was born - but it soon became apparent that something was not right. "Why isn't my baby crying?" whispered Mrs Harvey, clutching at Shelagh's arm. "Nurse?"

"Not to worry Mrs Harvey," reassured the ever gentle Chummy as she saw to the last stages of delivery. "Baby just needs a bit of encouragement that's all, it's all perfectly normal, we do it almost every day, and you couldn't be in more experienced hands than Nurse Turner's." Shelagh's eyes flicked momentarily to the doctor's as she cut the cord and scooped up the tiny little boy, wordlessly receiving the towel he passed to her to wrap the child in. She began to flick the baby's soles and blow gently in his face, but there was no reaction, just a haunting silence, all the more stifling after the clamour of the birth itself. After a while even breathless Shelagh fell silent in grave concentration, swanlike in her capacity for outwards composure in even the most drastic of moments. She held him briefly upside down by his ankles to clear his airways. The baby still lay motionless in her arms, and still Shelagh worked, reaching for a mucous catheter, never once halting the fervent appeals to God that burned within her heart: they had come so far, skirting complications at every stage, don't let him die now.

After more seconds of heart-stopping silence a ragged whimper inadvertently escaped her, hardly audible to the others, but to a man so helplessly sensitive to her every breath it was a sound so filled with desperation and fatigue Patrick couldn't help but come behind his wife and reach to give her all the help he could. Just as he did so there was a minute splutter, then the miraculous sound of a child's first cry pierced the stillness. The whole episode had only lasted a couple of seconds, but in the moment had seemed like an eternity. A collective laugh of relief filled the room, slicing through the smog of unease that weighed heavy in the atmosphere. "Well done," murmured Chummy as Shelagh thanked the Lord with all the strength she had left. Patrick's hand fell to rest on his wife's shoulder and they were entranced for a moment, grinning at every squirm and snuffle of the child in Shelagh's arms. The little boy was light and delicate-featured; he reached out a flower-like hand and clutched at Shelagh's finger. The nurse laughed gently in response and felt her husband's breath catch against her ear as he watched both the child and the natural responses of his wife.

"I hate to break up such a perfectly endearing picture, but is baby ready for mother yet Doctor?" Both Chummy and the elated mother bit back their amusement as Patrick whipped his hand away from Shelagh's arm and smiled bashfully. "Of course, Mrs Harvey, you should be very proud, you have a delightful baby boy." His eyes continued to be fixed on his wife as she handed the child over and smoothed down her delivery gown, a pretty flush of exhaustion colouring her cheeks.

"Well you can't keep him I'm afraid love, you'll have to have your own," smirked Mrs Harvey, not unkindly, as Shelagh relinquished the baby with a subconscious sigh. The nurse hesitated, flushing even more, almost to the maroon of her cardigan (the cuffs of which were peeking out from underneath the delivery gown, the garment being just a tad too big for the tiny nurse). "But you'll have plenty of time for that sort of thing later, enjoy each other while you can. I started with the baby thing far too young and I feel I missed out. And you've got a lot of catching up to do, haven't you, eh doc?" Shelagh was more used to giving out family planning advice rather than receiving it. She smiled curtly, resolutely not making eye contact with her husband, who was packing his things away, and was evidently trying not to laugh, perhaps more in response to Chummy's mortified reaction and chastisement of the good-natured mother to the comment itself. He was no longer prone to getting embarrassed over the jibing of Poplar's shrewd residents, although just one look at his wife's crimson complexion and tightly pursed lips told him Shelagh was not so blasé about it. Perhaps she never would be - but his heart glowed in the knowledge he would always be near to throw her a covert gaze of reassurance.

While Chummy took care of bathing he baby and cleaning up Mrs Harvey, together Shelagh and Patrick saw to the important task of examining the placenta. Weariness was beginning to make its inevitable appearance known through heavy eyelids and stifled yawns; they had been late to bed the previous evening, so were both running on a measly three hours sleep and a giddy reserve of pure adrenaline. Each felt a fresh wave of affection and protectiveness for the other as they observed each other's post-delivery joyful, if somewhat dishevelled, appearances, but it was "Doctor" and "Nurse Turner" right up to the moment they left Mrs Harvey's apartment, as it always was, and always would be where work was concerned. Now, as Chummy disappeared into the night on her bicycle, and the Turners clambered into their car, the informality and reassuring closeness the couple had been yearning for over the last trying hours was finally theirs. "Well done Shelagh," the doctor smiled, squeezing his wife's hand as he started the engine. "Another life. Another all-nighter, and we live to fight another day."

"Thank you Sergeant," she smirked back. "I don't know, complications happen almost every day, but that one was terrifying, what with the turning and breathing delay for good measure. Oh, and the notes are going to be lengthy too!"

"Don't think about it yet, we'll do it in the later, it's nearly five thirty."

"Five thirty already!" Shelagh exclaimed, rubbing her eyes and sighing deeply. "No wonder I'm so tired."

"Well there's no point going to bed now, we might as well stop off at the docks and watch the sun come up."

"Yes darling, I'd like that."

Patrick smiled silently to himself; he loved it when she called him darling. To other couples petty terms of endearment were inconsequential, but to the Turners they held an utmost importance and presented a thrill of excitement and disbelief each time they were shared. How many times had they wanted to call each other 'darling' or 'my love' and known it was simply out of the question?

"Come on then," he chuckled, pulling away from the tenements and towards the fresh open space of the river. All thoughts of delivery complications and imminent paperwork were far from their minds for the moment, if only for the next few hours 'til breakfasts and school uniform and lost homework logs started the upheaval of a new working day...

**To be continued...**

**Please review if you have the time :)**


	15. Chapter 15

**Sorry again for the wait - this will be the last chapter of this fic, so I wanted to get it right. I hope it was worth the wait - please let me know :)**

They drew up as close to the water's edge and snuggled together, Shelagh's head resting against her husband's shoulder. She inhaled the familiar scent of his trusty beige overcoat, a contented smile playing across her sleepy features. The sun began to rise, a great crimson orb against the skyline of tenements and workshops. "Red sky in the morning, shepherd's warning," she muttered, delirious in her heady mix of exhaustion and pleasure.

"What does it mean for the medical profession, that's what I really need to know. I could do with a nice quiet day of paperwork and tea-drinking after the night we've had."

"Indeed." Shelagh raised her eyebrows and took her husband's hand, weaving her fingers into his. Together they watched their fingers entwine with enraptured faces, and, although they had done this simple gesture a thousand times before, became lost in the moment as if a revelation was occurring, and the only thing that mattered in the world was the isolated contact between them. Patrick pulled her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips.

"Shelagh?" murmured Patrick.

"Yes?"

"You're wonderful, you know that? That look you gave Mrs Harvey after she teased you."

"Doctor Turner, if you don't shut up-"

"Yes, Nurse, I know my place." He grinned to himself and absently placed his hand on his wife's knee, playing with the hem of her uniform until Shelagh brushed him away, only to recapture his hand in both of her own. "Doesn't miss a thing that Mrs Harvey," he continued, throwing Shelagh a disarming smile. "Although I also saw you sigh when you handed the baby over."

"That's a midwife's hardest job," she replied, glad she was sitting down as she was sure that smile of his when it caught her off guard like that had a one hundred per cent success rate of making her go peculiarly light headed.

"It needn't be, you know. You don't have to spend your life giving them back. You could have your own."

Shelagh's heart leapt to her mouth. "Yes-"

"But don't feel as if you have to even take that step at all, I know we haven't really talked about it before - it would be the most tremendous step for you, and I don't want you to feel like it's an expectation." Patrick, having built himself up to this moment, was on the verge of gabbling. To tell the truth he was about the whole topic, not wanting to make his wife feel uncomfortable, but feeling like there were things that needed to be said now they were well into their marriage.

There was a pause as Shelagh withdrew her hand from his grip and sat up straight. "Patrick-"

"But Mrs Harvey was probably right. We've got plenty of time for all that sort of thing. We don't want to rush into things do we? I want to enjoy my beautiful wife alone for a bit longer first."

Shelagh avoided his doting gaze, letting out a quiet breath. She was so tired she was finding it hard to think straight.

"Doctor Turner, I do believe you're getting sentimental in your old age," she sighed, patting his hand and receiving a snort in response. She turned to face the windscreen, just in time to see the sun clear the soot-blackened rooftops, its reflection a flame of orange on her glasses that masked the unrest that flickered in her eyes.

"Perhaps you're right. But I think we need some food inside us, Mrs Turner, what do you say to that?" Shelagh looked up into his open, generous face and she felt her insides scrunch up with love and longing and trepidation.

"Yes," she said, rewarding him with a spontaneous kiss on the lips which was rather more to give her strength than for his benefit. It was a somewhat reserved kiss, but considering the docks were beginning to come to life around them, for Shelagh it was rather brazen.

"You're not yourself," Patrick teased when he finally drew himself away to start the car.

"No, I'm not really," came the breathless reply.

No sooner had they pulled away from the waterfront, Shelagh had fallen asleep. Patrick could see her in the rear-view mirror as he drove, young and vulnerable looking, as she always was when she slept; her lips had parted slightly and her forehead was faintly creased above the gentle slant of her eyebrows. Patrick noticed with an affectionate smile that the top button of her uniform had come undone, the silver cross pendant that Timothy had bought her catching the sunlight, gleaming star-like, from the shadow of her collar, drawing attention to the exposed skin that would have mortified the Sister Bernadette that once was. One of Shelagh's hands lay just brushing his by the handbrake. The other hand had come to rest comfortably on her abdomen. Patrick registered this, then nearly stalled the car. His eyes kept flicking to the mirror - sure enough, her hand remained placed surely and protectively in this tell-tale place. A coincidence surely.

When they pulled into the driveway, Patrick gingerly placed his hand over hers on her stomach then waited a few seconds before waking her. As soon as the sleepy haze cleared from Shelagh's mind she felt her husband's hand on hers and hurriedly changed position, blushing violently.

"Shelagh?" he began, then, with a tense laugh, "Sorry if I startled you. My God, darling, you look terrified." Shelagh was indeed staring wide-eyed up at him, desperately tracing his features for any sign of understanding.

"I am a bit," she admitted, taking a deep breath, knowing now that the game was finally up.

"Mrs Turner, what's going on?" Shelagh's eyes flickered inadvertently downwards. She checked herself, but was not quick enough for Patrick not to notice this, and he breathed out sharply.

"I think you've discovered what," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Shelagh, you're not-?"

"We're going to have a baby, Patrick... I'm pregnant."

"Pregnant" he echoed, although no sound came out of his mouth. Shelagh's gaze fell immediately to her lap. Only twenty minutes ago he had said they shouldn't rush into this, that it was too early. Was that really what he believed? She couldn't bring herself to look up at his face, no matter how desperately she longed for one of his soothing gazes; she couldn't even formulate words in her mind to pray. But before she knew it she felt trembling fingers beneath her chin, and her face was reverently lifted, those warm, healing hands moving to smooth her hair away from her forehead and cup her face. With shock she saw that Patrick was crying. Crying with pure, unbridled joy, the smile that stretched from ear to ear emanating shock and elation and disbelief and love. And suddenly Shelagh was crying too and they were clinging together clumsily in the front of the car, unable to speak for a few long minutes.

Patrick composed himself and sat back in his seat, completely incapable of preventing himself from grinning foolishly. Whenever he opened his mouth to speak he found himself laughing with exhilaration, and he kept staring in disbelief at his wife's still trim stomach. "But you don't look pregnant."

"Oh for goodness sake, are you a doctor, or aren't you?" Shelagh was glowing with relief and adoration, feeling rather in control in comparison to the emotional wreck beside her.

"I never dreamed I would hear those words again," he breathed.

"I know. It's pretty unbelievable for me as well."

"Quite." Patrick kissed her again for good measure. "But it's wonderful, isn't it? Even if a bit earlier than imagined. In fact, I might even stretch to say that it's tickety-boo and absolutely bloody marvellous."

_End._

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